


No Place Like...

by SparkleZombie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleZombie/pseuds/SparkleZombie
Summary: A short story. “The call is coming from inside the house,” sort of. Depictions of stalking, murder, blood- you know, Zsasz things.
Kudos: 3





	No Place Like...

Victor Zsasz liked to wait. He had grown very good at waiting. It took time to learn the pathing of zombies, to see just how deep their ruts ran, to see if they were worthy to become part of him. In his younger days, he was hasty, seeking simply to answer the call of his divine purpose. He grew and learned.

On Fridays, every member of the household would assemble for a family dinner. He wanted to save them last week, but one of the zombies had prior meaningless engagements. Zsasz worried, for a moment, that he would have to save those he could and catch the last little zombie at a later date. But fortune smiled on him on a rainy Friday. He grinned as he looked through the jagged little gap in the boards; he watched the cars park in the driveway. The house’s small attic was not an ideal spy post, but he made due with worse conditions before. He had left his perch a few times when the entire household was out, zombies tending to their aimless jobs or schoolings. He stretched his legs and took a shower and ate from the pantry. His presence within the walls was noticed by the family only as deja vu- “I thought I put that there?” “Wasn’t there more?” “Oh well, I must have forgotten.”

They were pitiful, sick creatures, and they deserved his blade. He sliced the phone line and made his way to the stairs.

Zsasz climbed down the attic stairs and perched, spider-like, in the hallway, then stood and stretched, crane-like. His knife had been taken from the kitchen three days ago. He taught it to hunger. It and his skin were starved.  
Zsasz entered the dining room as prayer wrapped up. He was giddy; their prayers were finally answered! Red filled the air as he liberated each soul from it’s wretched rotting prison. Their cries and scream were like music. He pulled one of them out from under the table and smeared the blood of the other’s on it’s face, whispering to it, “you’re free now,” and planting a blessing kiss on panicked lips as the knife sunk down into the throat. The zombie gurgled and flailed and Zsasz stroked it’s face until the eyes went dead.

Zsasz took at seat at the table, white cloth and china now peppered with red spots and smears, and carved the family into his flesh. He placed his knife on the table and grabbed a napkin. It would be a shame to let the meal go to waste, he thought.

Zsasz ate hot chicken and potatoes and green beans and bled onto the bloodied table and tore a roll with his long scarred fingers and the room was quiet save for the rain on the roof and the whimpers.

Zsasz frowned. He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and stood. He crouched and crept from zombie to zombie, carefully setting each corpse back at the table, before rigor set in and rendered the posing so much more difficult. He found the source of the whimpers; one of the zombies just was not gone.

Zsasz straddled the body. It’s eyes were almost human, wide and wet. A shaking hand, sticky with blood, reached up. He took the hand and pressed it to his face, leaning in to it. He looked into the zombie’s eyes. “Don’t you want to join your family in oblivion, little zombie?” He took the zombie’s hand and kissed the knuckles and put a hand on the zombie’s red throat and squeezed.  
The whimpers ceased. The sound of rain once again filled the room.

Zsasz posed the last body and went to the kitchen. He retrieved an apple pie from the counter and cut a hearty slice for each family member, as well as a small one for himself. He stepped back to admire his work.

Zsasz slinked upstairs and took a shower. As much as he enjoyed the baptism of their blood, it did get sticky after a while. He stepped out and wrapped himself in a bathrobe. He tended to his fresh tallies with some gauze. He sat in the living room and tried the television, but found all the screeching zombies inside it nauseating. Zsasz walked down the halls, looking at the framed photographs chronicling the entirety of the zombies’ existences. He stopped at one of the zombies at a blighted beach somehwere, their teeth showing.

Mother and Father and children.

Zsasz sucked in a breath through his teeth. No, it’s not. They’re not real. He stomped back to the dining room and observed the corpses again. Yes. This is what they were. They always try to trick you, with words and pictures and tears, but it’s because they don’t know their own wretched existence.

Zsasz breathed again, deep and meditative. His mind was right once again. He tapped his chin, contemplating adding some ice cream to the dishes of pie slices, but decided against it. This was enough. This was a happy zombie family.

Zsasz turned off the lights and retrieved an umbrella from the stand by the front door. He whistled to himself as he walked out into the rain.


End file.
